A pleasant smile and soft hands hid the soul of a tyrant. Cynthia learned quickly that a proper young lady did not spend her time pretending to talk to field mice or sharing secrets with the bumblebees. She quickly mastered perfect manners, domestic accomplishments, and unwavering obedience. The birch switch taught her well, and when she left the country estate at sixteen for finishing school, she hardly remembered what it felt like to sit under the willow on a rainy afternoon and listen to the earth breathe.
But on the first night of her widowhood, soaking up the silver moonlight, summer’s midnight song serenading her soul as her perfectly ordered life fantastically fractured, she started to remember.
No longer was she beholden to the will of her father, her brother, or her husband. She was untethered, able to fly on the wind wherever it might blow.
Completely free.
How could she pretend sadness after experiencing such a rush of unadulterated joy?
Her future might be uncertain, but it finally belonged solely to her. What a glorious gift. She would have to leave her current residence, but she would receive a dowager house near Cotswold, a tidy little townhouse a few streets away, and an annual income hardly comparable to Hubert’s total wealth, but certainly ample enough to ensure Cynthia would live very well for the remainder of her days. There were also funds she inherited from her father that Cynthia retained after her marriage. Hubert’s death had granted her more independence and income than she would have ever enjoyed as his wife.
Unless I’m convicted of his murder.
She refused to consider the possibility. It was imperative she convince Superintendent MacDougal and his infuriating(beautiful)niece that she was innocent. Because she held the fragile and fearsome gift of freedom in her hands, and she wasn’t about to relinquish it to anyone.
Certainly not a waterwitch who could entrap me like a siren.
She was brought back to the present as Helena reached for the cup and saucer. Their fingers brushed together. Fireflies erupted in Cynthia’s bloodstream, racing through her body and leaving trails of light behind. The vibrations of their wings kissed her chest, flicked against her pulse points, and tickled just beneath her breasts. It was the most extraordinary thing.
The curious bolt of energy zinging through Cynthia was even more powerful than it had been yesterday, and thrice as enticing.
Why does Helena Blair make me feel like I’m touching a current of electricity?
Cynthia’s heart thumped loudly as Helena held her gaze captive.
Did she feel it too?
Impossible. I’m nervous. That’s all.
Helena’s grey eyes glimmered, reminding Cynthia of last night’s moon before darkening to a more natural colour. She sat back in her seat. ‘We have some questions for you, Lady Burrows.’ Her hair, all the glorious colours of autumn in the middle of summer, caught the sunlight. She could have been Calypso, holding Cynthia captive on an island lost in sea foam. But Cynthia would not succumb.
Forcing her thoughts away from fancy, she determined to attack first. ‘I understand why Superintendent MacLachlan has questions for me. What I can’t puzzle out is your role in all of this.’ Cynthia held Helena’s gaze, refusing to let her hand tremble as she sipped her tea. ‘Tell me, what magic do you conjure?’ She kept her tone carefree, but she was desperate to know.
Her brother once told her that a skilled soldier always learned his enemy’s strengths so he could overcome them. It was sound advice. She had almost asked Clio the night before of Helena’s powers, but the clever witch would read too much into Cynthia’s interests when she was purely focused on protecting herself in this investigation.
Helena fisted her hand and something dangerous flared in her eyes.
Magic, no doubt. I suppose I should be careful before baiting a witch.
Only, she didn’t want to be careful any more. She wanted to be reckless and wild. She wanted to find that child, lost so long ago to rules and expectations, and hold her close. She wanted to stand in the centre of the storm and let the wind whip her skin as the rain soaked her soul.
There’s nothing like the threat of a hangman’s noose to bring things into perspective.
‘Are you not worried my powers might frighten you?’
‘Fear does not control me.’ At least, she didn’t want it to control her any longer. Life was too fleeting to waste trapped in trepidation.
‘I read thoughts, Lady Burrows.’
7
Helena immediately wished she could call back her words. Admitting her powers to Cynthia felt intrinsically wrong.
Since childhood, she had lived by three unbreakable rules:
Don’t reveal your powers to anyone outside of kin and coven.
Don’t trust anyone outside of kin and coven.
